


Don't Go Where I Can't Follow

by incidental



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clexa, F/F, clexa au, i don't know how else to tag this whatever, i hate jason rothenberg, the 100 au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-06 11:53:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6752845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incidental/pseuds/incidental
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a shooting nearly kills Lexa and takes the life of her partner in the Organized Crimes Unit, she finds herself wholly unprepared for the woman who will replace him. She's bossy, she's gorgeous, and she might just save them both. Clexa, AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This Isn't Happening

**Author's Note:**

> This idea came to life by accident, mostly thanks to my lovely friend and beta reader taevanlis (who is writing a kickass Clexa AU of her own, go read it!) so you can either thank or blame her for this happening. I just like the idea of Lexa and Clarke as cops, sort of like what I want JJ and Prentiss to be on Criminal Minds (and in my mind they are shhhh). My first multi-chaptered Clexa fic and first AU, let me know what you think! <3

“They should’ve been here by now.” An enormous man let out a sound between a sigh and a growl to her right—aside from her partner Gus’s voice, this was the only noise they had heard in hours. It was just past 4 o’clock in the morning, and the wharf had been silent since almost midnight.

Lexa was frustrated too, though less verbal about it—they had it on good intel that Charles Pike would be attending a captain’s meeting on the wharf tonight. He hadn’t been seen in Arkadia in almost a year; if they didn’t catch him tonight, who knows when he’d resurface next? 

“Tag Team Alpha,” Lexa said quietly into a mic slipped into her sleeve, “It’s oh-four-fifteen, clear, over.”

“Tag Team Bravo, oh-four-fifteen, clear, over.”

“Tag Team Charlie…”

Five Organized Crime Unit teams checked in, all five clear. They had been doing this for six hours, and the most excitement they had seen was a stray cat. Just as Lexa was starting to think the entire evening would be a bust, she leaned back in her seat, looked up at the stars through the sunroof, and saw…

“Oh shit,” Lexa said, elbowing Gus in the ribs. “Look.” Gus looked up, almost directly above them, and saw what had caught Lexa’s eye—barely visible, the windows of a second-story window on the southwest corner of the building were slightly lighter than the pitch-black glass around them. It was either diffuse light from a flashlight, or light filtering in from under a door. Either way, someone was up there.

“Tag Team Alpha, reporting activity in 1405, on the move.” She and Gus exited their vehicle and crept around to the back of the building, where a staircase divided the large, rectangular structure into two halves. Gus was surprisingly quiet and agile for his size, and Lexa almost struggled to keep up with him as he took the stairs with quick, sure feet. Gun first, they cleared room after room, working their way towards the corner of the building where they had seen the light from the ground below.

Lexa was trying not to get her hopes up—it was just as likely that the light was from a homeless person taking up shelter, or a bunch of teenagers having a séance, as it was to be Pike and his crew. But she just had a feeling…

They cleared the corner room, and saw a bright light under the door opposite them. Lexa drew in a quick, quiet breath; this was it. Gus walked ahead of her, and she followed hot on his heels. They were only steps away from the door when Lexa heard what sounded like a tree branch crashing through the roof.

It wasn’t. It was a board creaking underfoot. Under her foot.

Everything went dark after that.

ooo

“Officer Woods?”

Everything around her was impossibly bright and sterile, and Lexa wondered briefly if she had died. She quickly gained her bearings, however, and knew that if she had died, she wouldn’t be in nearly this much pain. Everything hurt, but the pain seemed centered just below her bellybutton.

“Don’t try to move,” the nurse advised. “Hold on, let me go get the doctor.” Lexa opened her mouth to ask—well, it didn’t matter, because the nurse disappeared as quickly as she had swum into Lexa’s field of vision. A few minutes passed, and the nurse returned with a Styrofoam cup and a doctor, a hassled looking woman with sandy hair and dark circles under her eyes.

“Officer Woods,” the woman said.

“Lexa,” she said, her voice dry and cracked. The nurse handed her the cup, which she gratefully accepted. It felt like she hadn’t had anything to drink in—

“Three days,” the doctor said. “Two surgeries, you’ve been out all weekend. Nasty work, gut shots, but you got lucky. An inch to the left, would’ve hit your abdominal aorta, and you would’ve bled out before the ambulance arrived. You lost almost a foot of your large intestine, then you had a bleeder and they had to go back in. You’re okay now, though.”

“Gus?” Lexa asked. The doctor faltered for a moment, then regained her composure and gave Lexa a steeled, but compassionate, look.

“I’m sorry, Lexa, your partner didn’t make it.”

ooo

The precinct seemed louder than it ever had on Lexa’s first day back. First real day—after the psych screening, after all the paperwork. She was almost ten minutes late reporting to the chief of Organized Crime, she had to stop to say hello to so many friendly faces welcoming her back.

She did pause, however, as she passed the wall of fallen warriors on her way to the elevators. A new photograph had been placed at the end of the bottom row since she last paused to take note—a tangle of wild hair and a scowl hid one of the kindest hearts ever found on the force. 

Lexa sighed; Gus hadn’t just been her partner, he had also been her best friend, on the force or maybe ever. But she couldn’t deal with that right now. 

She shook it off in the elevator, putting on her game face before the doors opened up into the Organized Crime Unit. A chorus of voice shouted her name as soon as she stepped onto the floor, and she could barely keep up with who all was waving her down, shaking her hand, patting clapping her on the back. She kept the smile plastered on her face until she got past the initial wave of greeters, then let it fall, the grimace of perpetual exhaustion taking its place. 

The greeting was nice, but Lexa felt a little overwhelmed by all of it—she felt that way about most things since the shooting, actually. Loud noises, flashing lights, even just a trip to the grocery store sometimes took an entire day to work up to. But it had been three months, and she was more ready than ever to get back to work, back to doing something useful with her life again. She knew she would feel better if she just got back to work.

“Woods,” a voice barked when she finally got to the OC Unit. The corners of her lips twitched in what was almost a smile; their fearless leader, Captain Indra Meroe, was standing in the doorway of her office, trying to look cross with Lexa for being late but still obviously pleased to see her. Indra waved her into her office and closed the door on the outrageous din of Organized Crimes.

“Sorry I’m late…” Lexa began, but Indra waved her off.

“Please, sit,” she said, gesturing towards an empty seat in front of her desk. There were usually two, but a woman was already seated in one. Before Lexa could move, the blonde had already risen to her feet, and was holding her hand out in greeting.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, toe to toe and nearly eye to eye with Lexa. She took in a quick breath, triggering the pang deep in her stomach that she was mostly sure was scar tissue from her injury, and not caused by the fact that this woman’s clear, stunning blue eyes appeared to know everything about her already. The smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose belied her youth, despite her smart outfit and a confident carriage that suggested she was a force veteran, which she couldn’t be since she appeared no more than mid-twenties, at most.

“Uh, thanks, you too…?” Lexa said, a little disarmed by the woman.

“Clarke Griffin,” she said. Lexa looked up at Indra, who was smirking at something she obviously found quite amusing.

“Clarke,” Indra explained, “is your new partner.”


	2. Where You Lead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to everyone who commented and bookmarked the fic, and of course to taevanlis for being my beta reader during her lunch breaks at work. <3 Sorry not sorry if the title of this chapter gets the Gilmore Girls theme song stuck in your head. Let me know what you think!

Lexa blinked two, three, four times in response to Indra’s statement before she found her words again.

“My new… you’re an officer?” she asked Clarke, realizing only after the words left her mouth that they might have sounded abrasive. She wasn’t particularly concerned, though. For reasons she did not quite yet understand, she felt angry, almost betrayed, that this woman had been assigned Gus’s position.

“Yes,” Clarke said, her expression cooling into a professional smile, something else flickering behind her eyes. “I’ve been in homicide for the last five years, but I’ve been looking to make a change. After your partner’s death—I’m really sorry about that, by the way,” she interjected quickly, “they needed an extra body, and I needed a change of scenery, so here I am.” She sat back down, and Lexa followed suit, taking the other empty seat.

“I see,” Lexa said plainly as she sat. “Captain, not to second-guess you—”

“Then don’t,” Indra said bluntly. Lexa stopped, pressed her lips together. “Clarke has one of the best resolution rates in homicide, and I have every confidence in her performance in the OCU. And I know—” Indra accented the word with an edge, almost the way a parent would to their child as a warning, “—that you will do everything in your power to make her transition into OCU a smooth one.”

“Yes ma’am,” Lexa said, knowing there would be no arguing this and therefore no point in trying. “Has Clarke been briefed on the Pike case?”

“No,” Indra said, “because you won’t be working the Pike case.”

“What?!” Lexa said, not realizing she had shouted it until she took in the matching looks of shock on both Clarke and Indra’s faces. “I’m sorry,” she said in a much more even, characteristic tone. “But Captain, why not?”

“You’re too close to it, Woods,” Indra said. “You know that. You can’t be impartial when it comes to Pike and his crew, it’s just not possible. Do you know how many cops end up hurt or dead because they let their feelings cloud their judgment on a case like this?”

“I am more than capable of separating feelings from duty,” Lexa said through gritted teeth, feeling a hot, angry pulse in her neck. She was vaguely aware of Clarke eyeing her warily from the side, as if she were afraid Lexa was a bomb that might detonate if the conversation carried on like this. Clarke could practically feel the intensity radiating off the woman, like rolling waves of heat, and it was hard to keep her own head steady as she watched the muscles in her jaw clench.

“No, you’re not,” Indra dismissed. “Nobody is, not like that, not after their partner gets killed.”

“But nobody knows more about the Pike case than I do, Captain, and if you just—”

“It’s done, Woods,” Indra said with raised voice over Lexa’s arguments. “We aren’t having this discussion any longer. You and Clarke will start working with Reyes and Blake on their undercover work with the Azgeda Crew. Now,” Indra added pointedly, shutting the door on any possible argument from Lexa.

“Yes ma’am,” Lexa said again, this time with so much bite that it sounded more like an insult than an act of obedience. She got up out of her seat and left the room without so much as giving Clarke a second glance. She heard her sure, even footsteps following close behind her as they made their way down the hall, though.

“Hey,” Clarke finally said. Lexa ignored her. Clarke said it again, and Lexa continued to ignore her. Finally Lexa felt a jolt as Clarke grabbed onto her upper arm, pulling her to a halt.

“What?” Lexa snapped, nearly shouting. “What do you want?”

“What is your problem?” Clarke asked, having gone from cool to hot in the space of ten seconds. Lexa had been right in her assessment previously. She sighed impatiently, nostrils flaring.

“I don’t have time to babysit the rookie right now,” she sniped. 

“I’m not a rookie, damn it,” Clarke shot back, and now she was at a volume dangerously close to a full-blown yell. “I’ve got as many years in homicide as you do in OCU, I’m not fresh from the academy!” Lexa opened her mouth to respond, but closed it when she looked just over Clarke’s head and saw five different officers staring in their direction, eyebrows raised, clearly enjoying the show. She grabbed Clarke’s arm, much as Clarke had grabbed hers, and steered her into an empty conference room, shutting the door behind them.

“Look,” Lexa said, “I’m just behind on a lot of stuff, okay? I’ve been out for three months, I haven’t been briefed on half the cases I’ve been monitoring, and now I find out they’ve got some dumbass on the Pike case, my Pike case, and I just…” Lexa pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and index finger and sighed. When she moved her hand and opened her eyes, she was surprised to see Clarke leaned back against the conference room table, arms crossed over her chest, surveying her with what looked like… concern? Pity? Understanding? The blonde had an uncanny ability for ambiguous facial expressions, so pegging her inner process was surprisingly difficult for Lexa, who usually excelled at that sort of thing.

They stood in silence for a moment, the only sound the soft hum of the ceiling fan overhead. Clarke sighed.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke said. Of all the things that could have come out of her mouth, Lexa wasn’t expecting that one.

“What?” 

“I’m sorry you lost your partner,” she said. “It must be really hard to come back to work without him.”

“That’s… that’s irrelevant,” Lexa faltered.

“No, it’s not,” Clarke said, and all the edge had faded from her voice. “Losing someone you love is never irrelevant. I lost my dad when I was sixteen, and everything I do, I think of him, I do for him. I joined the force because of him. Not to avenge his death or anything—it was a freak accident, actually—but just, I don’t know, to make him proud I guess. Like he never left. So, Lexa… it’s never irrelevant, and I am sorry you lost him. I’ve heard great things about Gus, he was a good cop and a good man. I’m not here to replace who he was, but I am your partner now, so we gotta work like partners, okay? Please?”

Lexa watched Clarke carefully for a few seconds after her request, looking for any sign of deceit, or malice, or… honestly, Lexa wasn’t even sure what she was looking for in people half the time anymore. Not that she had ever been a particularly warm or trusting person in general, but now it was like she was just waiting for the monster to come out of everyone, anyone.

“You’re right,” Lexa finally said, putting her hand out for Clarke to shake. “Thank you.”

“You got it,” Clarke said, face brightening to a smile. Lexa felt that feeling in her lower abdomen again, but this time it wasn’t a pang—it was a flutter.

“Well, let’s go, I’ll introduce you to Reyes and Blake and we’ll get briefed on Azgeda.”

Clarke followed Lexa’s quick steps (how did she walk so fast, and with such grace, almost like she was gliding?) down the hall and around the corner, into an office with two pin boards covered in mug shots, transcriptions, notes, timelines… it was astounding, really, far more detailed than anything Clarke had dealt with in most of her homicide cases. She knew OCU would be like this, though—their cases dealt with entire networks, and networks within networks, over months or even years. The complexity fascinated and excited her, and only barely intimidated her.

“Woods, welcome back!” a petite Hispanic woman with a wide grin and a loud, clear laugh greeted as they entered the room. Lexa gave her an approving nod, but the woman walked right up to her and hoisted her up in a hug in her tiny, but powerful, arms. Clarke stifled a laugh; she had only just met Lexa, but the idea of someone running up to her and picking her up in a hug was already very funny. At the far end of the table in the middle of the room, a fierce-looking woman with a mass of black hair pulled up into a messy bun waved absent-mindedly without looking up.

“Clarke, this—” Lexa gestured to the woman who had finally put her down and let her go, “—is Raven Reyes, and that is Octavia Blake. You probably worked with her brother Bellamy in homicide. This is Clarke Griffin, she’ll be joining us in OCU.”

“Yeah, we know each other,” Clarke said, nodding to Octavia and shaking Raven’s hand. “Nice to meet you both.”

“Likewise,” Raven said. “So you’re in OCU now? Welcome aboard!” Clarke saw Raven shoot a quiet, sympathetic glance towards Lexa before turning back to Clarke. “So what made you change divisions?”

“Change of pace,” Clarke said with a shrug. “So what’s all this?” she asked, gesturing towards the board.

“The Azgeda Crew,” Octavia said from the far end of the table, without looking up from what looked like a map of several square blocks of the meat packing district. “Local gang, family operation headed up by the matriarch, Nia “Ice Queen” Azgeda. They deal mostly in heroin, but have been dabbling in human trafficking in the last six months or so. Nia’s son Roan was gonna turn states last year, now instead for the time being he’s working with us as an informant.” 

“Catch me up,” Lexa said. “Where are we since I… what did I miss?”

The four of them spent the next two hours going over the finer details of the Azgeda family case, both to fully brief Clarke and also to get Lexa up to speed on what she had missed. 

“Great, so Raven, you’ll meet with Roan Friday, see if we can get better intel on how they’re moving bodies. Maybe figure out how they connect with clientele. Obviously the human trafficking takes precedent over the lines on heroin…” Lexa stopped at the sound of muffled laughter. She looked up to see Raven’s mouth in her hand, stifling herself, while Clarke looked between them with a slightly confused expression.

“Sorry,” Lexa said sheepishly, or as close to sheepish as she could get. “I’m sorry. Clarke, to avoid any confusion, Raven is running point on the Azgeda family. I’m just… here to do my job,” Lexa finished, as if it were painful to say. Raven let out a full-blown, raucous laugh.

“Look at that, the Commander can barely say I’m in charge without looking like she wants to hurl!” Raven cackled. Clarke grinned.

“The Commander?” she asked. Lexa looked less than amused, but Octavia chuckled, the closest to a smile Clarke had seen from her yet.

“That’s what they call her,” Octavia explained, “and I think the last thirty seconds has already largely informed you of why.” Clarke smirked at Lexa, who was trying not to smile. Clearly the nickname was well-earned, though, if she was just barely older than Clarke and had, until the shooting, been running point on one of the biggest crime rings in Arkadia.

“Anyway,” Raven said. “Lexa is actually right, that’s exactly what I was going to say. We need to get a better lead on the human trafficking, first and foremost. So many bodies move in and out of the city, especially on the water, we’ve got to find out exactly how and where they’re getting them through. I do think following the heroin trail might help inform the trafficking aspect though, since more often than not there is some overlap. I’ll try and map it out more with Roan when we meet, day after tomorrow. 

“Until then, Octavia is mapping out the information from Roan’s latest wire, and I’m going to be shaking down some other contacts. You two,” Raven gestured to Lexa and Clarke, “go down to evidence and spend the rest of the day familiarizing yourself with everything down there on the Azgeda family. I want you to know everything there is to know about them, and I mean everything. Hell, I want you to be able to tell me how much the newest Azgeda baby weighed at its last check-up. Got it?”

“Got it,” Lexa and Clarke said in unison. They each went on to their assigned tasks, and Clarke and Lexa headed down to the basement of the precinct building. It was a small, dark city built of cardboard evidence boxes, lit by many fluorescent suns. Clarke had been down there what felt like thousands times before, just not to this particular corner of it. They found an entire shelving unit filled with boxes upon boxes of evidence—wired conversations, interviews, surveillance, photographs… they were in for a long night getting up to speed.

Several hours into their knowledge quest, Clarke must have dozed off, because she awoke abruptly, sitting on the floor, leaned back against a stack of boxes with a folder still open in her lap. Lexa, who had been sitting next to her, was gone.

“Lexa?” Clarke called out. No response. She got up and started walking the aisles, finally finding the woman rummaging through a box half-way across the basement. While the boxes they were going through were clearly labeled “Azgeda”, this one was not. Clarke approached Lexa quietly, coming up behind her and peering over her shoulder at the label on the lid of the box she was currently looking through: PIKE.

“I thought Indra told you to drop the case,” Clarke said, causing Lexa to jump about a mile out of her skin. She spun around and found herself nose-to-nose with Clarke, so close she could feel her breath. Clarke was startled by the wild look in Lexa’s eyes, like she had triggered something primitive and terrified.

“Jesus Christ in a jumpsuit, don’t sneak up on people like that,” Lexa said, hand to her chest. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Clarke said, taking a step back and holding her hands up in a non-threatening display. “I didn’t mean to startle you, my bad. Why are you going through the Pike evidence?”

“Why aren’t you going through the Azgeda evidence?” Lexa snapped. Clarke was a little taken aback by the tone of her voice.

“I must have dozed off, I didn’t realize how long we’d been down here,” she said carefully. “Seriously though, you’re know you’re not supposed to be snooping through—”

“I’m not snooping,” Lexa said bluntly. “This is my case, this is my work—it’s been my life for the last two years. And it got Gus killed. I can’t just drop it.”

“If Indra finds out…” Clarke started cautiously, but Lexa’s steely facial expression silenced her.

“Are you going to tell on me?” she asked. Clarke scowled, but couldn’t maintain the expression for long. That mysterious look came back, the one Lexa had seen in the conference room. Clarke sighed.

“No, of course not,” she said. “But let me help you, okay?”

“This doesn’t concern you,” Lexa said, hastily shoving folders and bags back into the box in front of her. Clarke stepped to her side and put her hand on Lexa’s arm, having the unintended effect of making her freeze in place.

“It does,” Clarke said firmly, “because you’re my partner, and partners have each other’s backs. Right?” Clarke gave her an imploring look, and she finally nodded. Lexa put the lid on the box and handed it to her.

“Okay, Clarke,” she said, and Clarke couldn’t help but notice the way Lexa said her name. It rolled off her tongue differently than it did with others. She couldn’t quite place why, though. “This one goes over there, second shelf, that empty space. Grab all the ones around it, and go make some coffee. It’s gonna be a long night, _partner_.” 

Clarke nodded and strolled off towards the shelves of Pike evidence. Inexplicably, Lexa smiled.


	3. Song Beneath the Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thanks to everyone who has shown support for the story so far!! Things are gonna start getting a little jucier moving forward, so gird your loins, babes. Also, the title of this chapter came from the song I was listening to when I started writing it... which, aside from being a good song, may also give you some insights. That's all I'll say about that. Shoot me a comment and let me know what you think!

The next few days came and went in a blur of cardboard boxes and paperwork. Raven’s visit with Roan was canceled, so they worked maps with Octavia for most of the day. While Lexa had the mind of a brilliant strategist, and so took to mapping like a fish to water, Clarke was less inclined towards it—she said she did not have the detail orientation for it, but Lexa didn’t believe that. She had a feeling it was because Clarke was from homicide, so probably very much the cowboy type—kick down doors first, ask questions later. 

Whatever the reason, it appeared physically painful for Clarke to spend hours plotting out notes from every interview they ever did pertinent to the Azgeda Crew and lay it out on 50 square feet of map of the city.

“I wonder why Roan backed out,” Clarke asked over dinner several hours later, feet propped up on the table, mouth full of shrimp fried rice.

“No… idea…” Raven said through gritted teeth, struggling to pick up a wonton with a pair of chopsticks. Clarke caught Lexa’s smile out of the corner of her eye. In the three days she had known her, she had not yet seen her openly smile when she knew someone was looking at her, only when she thought she was not being observed. Clarke inwardly wondered if she had always been that way, or if that was a quirk she had picked up since the accident. Raven finally gave up with a growl, tossed the chopsticks in the bag, and fed herself wontons with her bare hands.

“We can’t go into details on the burner phones,” Octavia explained. “If someone else found it, and saw everything on there, we’d be royally fucked. He just said he had to reschedule lunch to Monday. We’ll find out more then.”

“All this sitting around is killer,” Clarke said. 

“You guys don’t get much down time in homicide,” Octavia said knowingly. “Bell is always running from one case to the next; sometimes he’ll work 24 hours or more straight just to chase a lead.”

“We have to,” Clarke said. “Statistically speaking, if you don’t solve the case within 48 hours, your odds of ever solving it are cut in half. Evidence washes away, people’s memories go fuzzy, life goes on. OCU is about stopping bad things from happening; homicide is about catching bad guys after the fact. Totally different mindset.”

“Seems that way,” Lexa observed, setting down her soda on the edge of the table. 

“What made you choose Organized Crime?” Clarke asked Lexa. She pressed her lips together for a moment before answering.

“I like to play chess,” she said simply. “And it seemed like a chess game—different players with different skills, studying and utilizing different strategies, always having to think three steps ahead of what’s going on in the moment.”

“And her girlfriend went into OCU,” Raven said under her breath, shooting Lexa a wicked grin. Clarke raised her eyebrows.

“Is that so?” she asked. It may have just been the fluorescent lights, but it looked as if Lexa’s cheeks tinged slightly pink. She broke eye contact with Clarke and instead focused very intently on her soda can.

“She did,” Lexa admitted. “After three years as a beat cop, Costia applied for a promotion to detective and was assigned to OCU. I found her work interesting, so when I came up for promotion, I made the request and it was granted.” 

Clarke had about 15 different questions she wanted to ask Lexa about her relationship with Costia, but she knew this was not the time or place, so she settled for shoveling rice into her mouth instead. Lexa took a sip of her drink, then finally returned to meet Clarke’s gaze.

“Why did you choose homicide?” she asked.

“I wanted to catch bad guys,” Clarke said with a shrug. 

“Well, sociopathic murderers definitely make the list,” Octavia said.

“You’d be surprised,” Clarke said. “I was in homicide for almost five years, and if I learned one thing there, it’s that anyone can be a killer—and I mean anyone. That sweet little old lady at the end of the block, the father of two who shovels snow off your walk in the winter, your kid’s second grade teacher… you learn pretty quick to shed your illusions about who kills who, and why. Some of them aren’t sociopaths at all. Most of them, actually. Mostly they’re just people.”

“Have you ever met a righteous murderer?” Lexa asked. Clarke didn’t answer right away; there was something intense about Lexa’s gaze, something behind her eyes that had shifted, and Clarke felt the breath catch in her chest at the sight. _Inhale, Clarke,_ she thought to herself. _Exhale. Inhale, exhale._

“I’ve known plenty of killers who felt that way,” Clarke answered carefully. “And a few who made pretty logical arguments in their defense.” Lexa pressed.

“But were they right?” she asked. Clarke gave a small shake of the head.

“No, I don’t think so,” she said. “Logic doesn’t make a god. I don’t think any of us has the right to decide who lives and who dies.”

“So you don’t believe in the death penalty?” Lexa asked.

“I don’t, no,” Clarke said.

“Even with everything you’ve seen?” Lexa asked, her voice picking up a hot edge. “People who murder innocents, who shake babies to death, cop killers, you don’t think those people should die for their crimes?”

There it was. Clarke had a feeling there was something beneath the question, and those two words— _cop killers_ —brought it to the surface. 

“I don’t believe that blood must have blood, no,” Clarke said. “I can’t answer death with more death, not after spending that chunk of my life bringing killers to justice. It’s hypocritical at best; at worst, it makes me party to murder, and I can’t have that.”

“You have quite black and white views on what’s right and wrong, Clarke,” Lexa observed. There it was again, the way she said Clarke’s name, like she knew something about it nobody else did; like that knowledge painted it a different color, gave it a different taste.

“Well, that’s why they’re called right and wrong, not eh and maybe,” Clarke said. Raven snorted, and Clarke suddenly remembered there were two other people in the conference room with them. She felt her cheeks light up and dove back into her rice, hoping nobody had noticed.

“I see,” Lexa said, picking up her drink again and taking another casual sip. “So what Roan is doing, is he right or wrong?”

“Right,” Clarke said without a second thought.

“His mother probably wouldn’t see it that way,” Lexa pointed out. “He’s betraying his family, the woman who gave him life, he’s living a double life, lying to their faces…”

“His mother is a murderous narcissist who sells humans as commodities. I don’t think her opinions on right and wrong hold much water,” Clarke argued.

“But yours do?” Lexa asked. Clarke smiled.

“Yes,” she said simply.

“Okay,” Lexa said, the corners of her mouth turning up just slightly, and somehow Clarke knew the conversation was over, but did not end badly. The charge left the air and Raven and Octavia returned to the conversation with lighter subjects—interdepartmental gossip, relationships, the standards. The clock hands spun slowly in the background, and eventually Raven called it a night and sent them home to rest.

“You know what?” Raven added, “Take the weekend, all of you. You guys busted ass this week, you deserve a break. Get some rest… while we still can,” she added almost ominously as Clarke pulled her blazer off the back of her chair and slipped it on. “Depending on what Roan has to say Monday, shit may be about to hit the fan very quickly.” Clarke felt a rush up her spine, the way it used to when her old chief told her a witness had come forward, or they found a firearm stashed in the wheel well of a suspect’s car. Excitement. Eagerness. That kicking-down-doors feeling.

“You parked in the garage?” Clarke asked as they collected their belongings. Lexa nodded, and they began walking together down the hall. 

“Clarke, I’m sorry if I came off a little…” Lexa grappled for the right word.

“Intense? Forceful? Scary?” Clarke offered with a grin. Lexa chuckled.

“Any of those,” she said. Clarke shrugged.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I like a challenge.” 

It was the first true smile she had seen out of Lexa yet.

The parking garage was perpetually dark, humid, and filled with the acrid smell of gasoline and something vaguely moldy. Arkadia was a harbor town directly on the coast, meaning nearly everything was damp and eaten away by salt most of the time. Like the rain in Seattle or the oppressive heat of the Louisiana bayou, Arkadians learned to live with it. Clarke and Lexa continued to move together across the garage to the far side, comfortable in their silence. Clarke casually scanned the environment, as cops are wont to do, taking slow, easy strides. She had the entire weekend ahead of her, and for the first time in a long time, she was almost certain that it would not be interrupted by a shooting or a pipe bomb or a… 

There was a loud pop on the other side of the garage—a car backfire, the kind of sound any officer can easily distinguish from a firecracker, or a gunshot, all of which have a similar quality to civilians. But almost immediately, Lexa was on the ground. For a moment, Clarke thought maybe she had tripped, but the woman didn’t appear to have fallen; she was crouched down, arms up over her head in a defensive posture. She didn’t fall; she dropped, immediately and instinctively.

When she looked up at Clarke, her typically calm, steady green eyes were wild and afraid. It was like she wasn’t looking at Clarke, but merely in her general direction. She looked around the garage wildly, then finally turned her gaze back to the blonde, who had gotten down on her knees in front of Lexa and was holding her hands out in a calming motion. She was afraid to touch her, afraid to scare her more.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Clarke said in the calm, clear voice she typically used on terrified witnesses. “It was just a car backfire, that’s it, that’s all. You’re safe.” They sat in silence as Lexa’s breathing leveled out and her expression seemed to return her back to the present moment. She looked up into Clarke’s eyes, and this time Clarke felt that she was actually seeing her.

“I…” Lexa began lamely, having no idea what to say. Clarke put her hand out and touched the woman’s shoulder gently. She flinched, and Clarke withdrew.

“Come with me, let’s go sit down,” Clarke said, rising to her feet and offering Lexa her hand. She hesitated for a beat, then took it, following Clarke to where she was parked. They climbed into the vehicle and sat in the quiet while Clarke considered how to ask the question on the tip of her tongue. There was no way to ask it, so she just took a breath and said it.

“You fudged your psych eval,” she said. Lexa did not respond. “You knew exactly what they wanted to hear, and you said it. But it was a lie. You have PTSD.” 

“No, I don’t,” Lexa said. “It just startled me, is all.”

“Yeah, and sent you into a total panic,” Clarke argued. “Hypervigilance, that startle response, triggers that make you relive the event…”

“Stop,” Lexa whispered. 

“Lexa, you were _shot_ ,” Clarke said forcefully. “You almost died. Gus did die! Nobody would judge you for having PTSD, having an illness is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I’m not sick,” Lexa said through gritted teeth. “I’ve just been a little jumpy, that’s it. It’s nothing.”

“A car backfired and you hit the ground,” Clarke said bluntly. “You didn’t even know where you were. You were having a flashback.” Lexa held up her hand, immediately silencing Clarke.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” she said. “I’m fine, Clarke. Please leave it alone.”

“Lexa, you aren’t fine. You shouldn’t be…”

“My partner was killed, Clarke,” Lexa shouted suddenly. Her voice was amplified by the small size of the car cabin, causing Clarke’s ears to ring painfully. “My best friend, and it was my fault. I need to be working, Clarke. I need to find them. Gus deserves justice. So do I.”

Lexa fell silent, and Clarke evaluated her carefully. Her expression was fierce and defiant, as if daring Clarke to deny her her due. Her breathing was heavy and sharp, cheeks flushed. Clarke could almost feel the intensity radiating off of her; if she had to pick a word for this woman, she had been right on the money before: intense was definitely it.

“Then let me help you,” Clarke finally responded. “I mean really help you. Because you aren’t just putting yourself in danger, coming back to work with PTSD—you’re putting me in danger too. What if that backfire really had been someone shooting at us? You were gone, Lexa. They would’ve picked you off like that.” Clarke emphasized with a snap, which made Lexa flinch ever so slightly.

“I know,” she agreed quietly. Clarke hesitated, then closed the gap between them slowly and placed her hand on Lexa’s arm. This time, she did not flinch or pull away.

“Talk to me, okay?” Clarke said. “Let me know what’s going on with you. Let me be there with you. You aren’t alone anymore.” Lexa didn’t respond, she just nodded, averting her gaze down to her lap.

“Okay,” she finally said. “Thank you, Clarke.”

“Hey, that’s what I’m here for,” Clarke said with a smile. “I’m your partner; I’ll follow you anywhere. But right now, I’ll drive you to your car. You’ve got a nice, long weekend of nothing ahead of you, and I for one am ready to get started on mine.”


End file.
